


May Look That Way

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [302]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Brief Mention of Snowballing, But That's Why Tony Loves Him, Dirty Talk, Feelings, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation with an Audience, Mild Praise Kink, Penetrative Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Secret Relationship, Steve is a little shit, Top Steve Rogers, With A Sprinkle of Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-25 00:23:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20367562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: You’re pretty sure that no one knows.





	May Look That Way

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Secret Relationship. Prompt from this [generator](https://colormayfade.tumblr.com/generator).

You’re pretty sure that no one knows.

You’re pretty sure that no one knows because nobody’s given you shit about it.

You’re pretty sure that no one knows because nobody’s given you shit about it and given that you and Steve live in the immediate vicinity of a super spy, a bow-happy treeblind, and a God, if those fuckers knew, any of them, you’d have been bombarded by their good wishes and/or what the fucks from jump.

But you haven’t, so you’re pretty sure they don’t know. This is the theory you’re running with.

It’s not that you care what they think, or that you think they’d disapprove. No, that’s not it at all. The thing is that right now, since you live in the happy shadows of other people’s ignorance, Steve’s all yours, this is: him in your bed and buried in your body and asleep in a puppy-dog heap on the cyclone that once was your sheets. It’s waking up to see him in the chair by the window, shirtless, a glass of something dangling from his hand as he turns away from the darkness, the deer, and the trees and stretches out an impossible arm.

“Come here.”

You yawn, feel the cobwebs. How the hell long have you been out? “Nuh uh. You come back to bed.”

He smiles. “I asked you first.”

“Well, tough shit. It just so happens that I’m comfy here.”

“Are you now. Hmm.” His grin gets a little wider and he tips his glass up, downs the rest of his drink. “Anything I can do to change your mind?”

Ok, your crank is officially turned. He always gets that look on his face when he’s fucking with you. The man’s turned it into some kind of an art. You cross your arms and sit up a little, peer at him across the prairie of sheets. “Pffft,” you say, doing your best to hide the heat. “I doubt it.”

Steve sets his glass down and pushes the chair back, turns it so it’s facing the bed. “Huh,” he says, “well, never mind me, then. Go on back to dreamland. I’m sure I’ll find someway to entertain myself somehow.”

In two minutes, his hand is in his boxers, these great white silly things that he loves. You’ve bought him boxer briefs to try and plum smugglers and even a lacy ladies’ pair, once, but nothing’s ever stuck and right now, as he teases himself behind 3/8th’s of an inch of cotton, you’re grateful as fucking Christ because through the damn things you can see every vein, every inch, every tiny strain of wet as he plays with himself and watches you, his breath coming in slow, hungry puffs.

“Sure I can’t tempt you to join me?” he says when he stops for a moment, fist dug in and wound around the shaft.

“No,” you say, ignoring the jerk of your own dick under the covers. “But thanks anyway. I’m good.”

Another two minutes and the cotton’s on the floor. His legs are spread and he’s looking right at you. The balls you had your mouth on an hour ago (two?) are heavy again, straining, and you have to clutch at the blankets and bite down on your tongue to keep you from giving in then and there. Steve loves it when you nuzzle his balls, tease them with your fingers while you suck him. He loves it when you kiss them and he loves it when you drain them and he tells you so, god, every time.

When you did it tonight, lapped at them between his bent knees, he’d made this wild sound like a goosed tiger or something and grabbed at your hair, made you be still. 

“You keep doing that and I’m gonna come all over your face.”

You’d looked up, turned your smirk up to 11. “Then stop jerking off.”

His head fell back and he wheezed a little, that telltale spread of red on his chest, all the way up to his ears. “Mmmm, fuck,” he said. “I don’t wanna.”

But he’d wanted to hold you down more; to hold you down on the bed and loom over you, the way that you love, and slip his fingers inside your hole. 

“See?” he’d said as you writhed--because goddamn was Mr. 1940s aces at bowing your prostate. “This is where I want to come tonight. Not on your pretty face, or in your smart mouth, but deep in here, right here, where nobody but me can reach.”

You’d come before he had because he likes it that way, loves to push his dick in while you’re still spurting and take your fritzed-out body for a hell of a ride until you were stiff again and he was close, so fucking close, so hot his hair was almost standing up on his head and when you stroked them, those wet, blond lanks, he butts his face against your wrist like a cat, greedy for you, asking for more. 

He’s so beautiful like that, your team’s fearless leader: strung out and horny and yet straining for your affection, your soft words, your praise.

“Making me feel so good,” you’d told him, rubbing your beard against his flushed cheek. “You’re doing so good, baby. Making me so fucking hot.”

A rumble then, a groan you’d felt in his back. “Oh, god.”

“I love the way that you fuck me.” You’d traced his mouth with your tongue, riding out each incoming wave. “Jesus, don’t you know that by now?”

He’d grunted and slammed deeper inside. “Fuck.”

“Uh _ huh_, that’s right. Just like that.” You’d slapped a hand on his gorgeous ass, squeezed. “That’s what I love. How big you are, how goddamn horny. How desperate you are to empty yourself in my ass.”

“Mmmm, Tony, _ Jesus_.”

“I want you to,” you’d murmured, raising your voice over the slam of your skin, the slap of the bed. “I want you to come in me, Cap. Love it when you come inside me, huh? Love when you get your face down there and lap it all out again.”

And Steve had lost it then, knocked his forehead against Tony’s and hollered and pumped it out in four big, sloppy gasps.

You wonder if he’s thinking about that now as he beats off, his balls bouncing, his teeth in his lip and his feet on the bed and his nipples pulling up, tight.

“I need you,” Steve sighs. His voice is the color of roses. “Can’t you see how bad I need you right now, Tone?”

“You look to me like you’re aces on your own, Steve.”

He moans. “May look that way, but I’m not.”

“Hmmm,” you say, because this is a game, this thing between you, right? And a game’s something you play. “Hard to tell from this angle, maybe. How about I come down for a look?”

As soon as you throw the sheet back and he can see the red, insistent jerk of your dick, he knows he’s won, that fucker, he knows it; knows it so well that he doesn’t respond to your next two dozen words--just stares you in the face, grinning. Victory is his, period, no matter what’s coming out of your mouth.

“How about,” you say finally, sitting now on the edge of the bed, pinned between his spread feet, “how about you put that chair down and sit right the fuck here and let me straddle your goddamn lap.”

That a man so big moves as fast as he does shouldn’t still shock you, but it does.

“Right there,” he says when you’re speared on his pretty, fevered dick, your knees biting his hips. “Stay right there for me, Tone.” His head falls back and he’s beaming, his fingers cupping the curves of your ass. “Oh, god, oh my god. You're so gorgeous like this. Oh _ fuck_.”

This time, he lets you set the pace, the speed of it, the furor, the ride, and something tells you to take it slower than you want to, slower than almost you can stand, just to see the way his mouth twists, to feel the way his fingers dig in when you catch the right angle, the way that he breathes. At some point, he gets a hand on your cock while still holding your weight and that Does Things to your gut and to your dick, too: it’s easy to forget how strong he is, sometimes, how easily he could bend the world to his will, if he wanted, bend you, but for all your shouting and public contretemps, you know he’d never hurt you, no matter how mad you made him for calling him on his dumb and/or seriously misguided shit.

No, even now, he’s hold you like something fragile, somehow, despite the fact that he’s stripping your dick as you fuck yourself on his and that’s why you’re glad that nobody knows about this, it is, because it means that you can lean back in his big, broad, loving hands and let yourself be fucking held and when he comes with a wail that he bites into your shoulder and a twist of his wrist that makes you cry out and cream his stomach, his fist, the balance between you, in that fierce, beautiful moment is the best it’s ever been, the best you’ve ever had.

“You’re not leaving, are you?” you mumble later as he nudges you out of the shower and semi-carries you back to the bed.

“You don’t want me to?” 

“No.” You snuggle into his arms, press your mouth against his neck. “You saying it’s my choice?”

“Isn’t it?” He kisses your temple and lays you back down in softness, in the least fucked-up part of the bed. “By which I mean, yeah, I think it is.”

“Ok, then. Stay.”

He chuckles, a dry sound in the warm dark, and tucks himself in beside you. “Whatever you say, Tony.”

There’s a smart remark there somewhere, but Steve’s breathing in your ear and pulling you close and hell, if you let him get away with it just this one time, nobody will ever know.

**Author's Note:**

> And Accidental It's All Porn Week at MM rolls on!


End file.
